An American Wizard in London
by lalunaticscribe
Summary: A salute to grannysknitting's Magic!John series. Slight Xover between the Dresden Files and Sherlock. Will be moved soon. How does Sherlock react when he meets Harry Dresden? Jealousy abounds, watch the sparks fly. Slash, Implied-Harry slash.


_**Sherlock, meet Harry**_

_**Slight Crossing with The Dresden Files, book version. Think **_**An American Wizard in London****_. Harry Dresden, meet Sherlock Holmes, and watch the sparks fly. _**

_**A salute to grannysknitting's Magic!John series. **_

_**Reviews are appreciated. **_

_**One-shot only. If I get enough reviews, I might consider posting more.**_

* * *

><p>It began with the phone call, as far as Sherlock could tell. Of course, this particular phone call was significant only upon seeing John's reaction to it.<p>

John was perfectly civil right up to "Hello? John Watson here," before a long silence. Sherlock was later interrupted in his experiments concerning decomposition of human flesh underwater when John began a sudden tirade of swearing, ending with:

"Not in a million years, Captain!"

A sudden silence again, which was the other party speaking, Sherlock deduced, flouncing out of the bathroom to see John yelling into the receiver. Or speaking really loudly, to be more specific, as John had recovered from the sudden outburst and was at least speaking in normal tones.

"Captain, I have a _consulting_ _detective_ who has a tendency to conduct morbid experiments in the house. I cannot handle a visit from Harry _buggering_ Blackstone _bloody_ Copperfield _goddamn_ Dresden in the same city. Don't lie, he and Sherlock cannot handle being in the same city; it'll lead to dramatics on both parts, and Dresden's dramatics tend to involve fire. Why can't Chandler handle it?" Sherlock would have normally applauded at John's tirade of swearing if not that John was still on the phone, and John had successfully justified no interrupting phone calls using a mean combination of seduction and arguments that even Sherlock had been hard-pressed to rebut.

Sudden silence again.

"Yes, I know he's still fighting against the Reds..."

Seeing as the Cold War was over and that Britain was not actively involved against any Communist countries, Sherlock deduced that whoever the Reds were, they were something in relation to John's magical side. Although who Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden was remained a mystery.

"...And Dresden's not? You're going to dump the Wardens' loose cannon on me? London's going to go to blazes. Look, is this something to do with the Merlin...? Of course it is, silly me, why did I ask...look, Captain, really, please, anyone else, anyone else, even the idiot Ramirez...why?" The last part was long and drawn out, as John put down the receiver with a sigh.

"Tea?" Sherlock offered.

"Please. With the brandy." John tiredly replied, slumping into his armchair.

Medicinal tea duly taken, John had taken Sherlock and duly explained that Harry Dresden, also known, according to John, as "Gandalf on crack and an IV of Red Bull", was coming to London on a sort of exchange trip between the two international organisations of magi, one called the White Council of Wizardry*, where Harry Dresden was from, and the other known simply as the Venatori**, where John was from.

"And the Wardens would be?" Sherlock prompted.

"Think magic police of the White Council, but the recent war with the Reds have reduced their numbers significantly. Although they're also paranoid magic soldiers who make Joe McCarthy look like a friendly puppy. Non-essential data," John clarified upon seeing Sherlock's expression. "American wizards were bad enough, but Dresden..."

"What's the difference between your..." Sherlock did a hand wave that substituted for the word 'magic', "And Dresden's?"

"For one thing, mine doesn't kill every single piece of technology invented after World War Two," John explained, carefully eyeing Sherlock's phone with a thoughtful expression. "I've heard that Harry Dresden lives like an Amish hobo. However, Dresden's side of magic tend to be more...explosive and more...unbelievable."

"Unbelievable by normal standards, or by...mage standards?"

"Sherlock, the last time I heard about Harry Dresden through the grapevine, he had just arranged for a slap-down between wizards and vampires. Before that, he'd resurrected a sixty-five million year old Tyrannosaurus Rex to take on a group of necromancers. Not even _I_ can do that so easily. And before that, he crashed a war encompassing the whole of Faerie, and even _before_ that, he _started_ a war between the wizards and the Red Court of Vampires. Do _not_ ask," he said immediately after. "The odds are stacking up exponentially against him reaching forty. I'd be surprised if he survives the trip across the Atlantic."

John sighed, prompting a round of cuddling from the normally distant consulting detective. With Sherlock-Limpet^ in place, John breathed into Sherlock's ear: "Should we warn Mycroft?"

"Are you joking, John? Let the fireworks begin."

* * *

><p>*Taken from the Dresden Files Wiki<p>

**Self-invented term taken from the Dresden Files as inspiration.

^Slash Term invented by grannysknitting to describe Sherlock latching on to John extremely firmly.

* * *

><p>Sherlock had been very surprised when John had stopped at an alleyway where Baker Street met Maryleborne Road instead of moving to Heathrow Airport. "I presume then that this Harry Dresden is going to travel by magical means?"<p>

"Yep, he'd be travelling through the Ways. No, Sherlock, I will not tell you what are the Ways, because the last thing you need is to cross whatever lives in there." John replied.

In contrast, John had barely blinked when the fabric of reality tore apart right at a brick wall and a tall man wrapped in a long leather duster carrying a six-foot long staff with dents and nicks and carvings all over it and a rucksack slung over his back stepped out. "John Watson? What's the time?"

"Pleasure to meet you. Eight thirty." Sherlock was about to correct him when Dresden snorted.

"Great. I mean the real time."

"Twenty two hundred hours," John acquiesced, scrutinising Dresden. "You look pretty bad."

"Winter," Dresden replied. John did not bother to hide the wince. "Maeve sends you her regards. And Mab says that she has something just for you and your consort."

"You're on speaking terms with the Winter Queens?" John sounded impressed. "They gave you the usual offer, didn't they?"

"Yeah, and told me to send John 'Three Continents' Watson their regards," Dresden replied, squinting. "Frankly, you don't seem like what I thought you'd be..."

"Oh my God!" something squeaked. It seemed to come from Dresden's rucksack. "He's gay with his flatmate! You know, harry, just like-"

"_Bob_," Dresden sighed, slapping his face into his hands as Sherlock looked around while John raised an eyebrow.

"Well, then, you'll be staying with us with your air spirit of intellect safely stuck in whatever vessel you have for it while you're with us," John stated, turning to leave. "No orgies, Dresden. I mean it. There's enough clutter in the flat without...all that."

"I presume you've met some air spirits yourself," Dresden flatly replied, following behind Sherlock.

"Three continents?" Sherlock whispered, tugging on the edge of John's jumper.

John grimaced in reply. "It was a long time ago, I was young, horny, and...young. There's no one else now."

"Three _continents?"_

"Well, between the two of us..." and here John leaned closer to Sherlock's ear. "It was only the two. Maeve is prone to exaggeration."

Sherlock was just about to ask who on earth was this Maeve person when they reached the road, and a big black unmarked car was waiting for them.

Sherlock reacted immediately, turning onto his heart. "John!"

"The local British Government is on to us," John told Dresden. "Did you bring your passport?"

"Haven't brought it since Oklahoma a few years ago." the tall man replied cheerfully. "There's the Ways and all. Great for dodging Customs." Sherlock made a mental note of that fact to use later.

"So, do we run or do we 'fess up to the local government...?"

"I say we hex the car." Sherlock stated. The two mages gave him a look.

The window rolled open, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by it jamming about halfway down, directly before smoke began wafting out and the car alarms began to ring. Then the door open and Mycroft Holmes stepped out of the car with a box in his hands. "What you requested," he pointedly told the Mage of London, handing over the box with the same cautious reverence paid to really expensive equipment. "Our debt is now over."

He got back into the car and it drove off.

"Let's run before he finds out we've hexed his car," John suggested. They followed.

* * *

><p>It only took the third exclamation of "There's a severed head! In the fridge!" for John to get wise to Sherlock's games.<p>

"Sherlock," he sighed. His flat-mate was giving him that look which resembled an angel. If he'd been trying to act anymore innocent, a halo would've made itself apparent with a gratuitous 'ting!'. And elephants would sprout the wings of seraphim and take to the skies. "What have we said about body parts in the fridge?"

"There's a severed head in the fridge!" Harry -he'd insisted on it once they've teamed up on their first case, involving a few awkward conversations with Lestrade and necessitating a transatlantic call to Chicago Police Department's Karrin Murphy to confirm the status of consultant Harry Dresden- exclaimed, waving a hand at said fridge, whose door was thankfully closed.

"What is your normal job?" Sherlock had blurted after the three of them had just narrowly escaped death by flaming building. Sherlock had finally understood why John had been so jumpy; the man's dramatics was like Sherlock's, only involving fire.

"Private investigator. I'm in the phone book under 'Wizards'." the wizard had cheekily replied, looking back at the blaze, left hand stretched out. Harry's hand was pretty long, almost comparable to Sherlock's. In fact, a lot of things were comparable. Their extreme height, their morbid sense of humour, their package size...that last one had been deduced by Sherlock into front of Lestrade and Co., and had required some awkward explanation to go around. And now their unique occupations too.

If John was right, and he often was concerning Sherlock, then Harry would be _exactly_ his type, if his type was Sherlock. And Harry was a wizard as well. They had plenty in common to talk about. So, Sherlock was trying to eliminate the competition, in his own extremely morbid way.

"You said to keep them separate from the food," Sherlock sullenly replied.

John slapped his forehead. "Never mind. We're lucky this whole thing is over and done with, so Mr Dresden and the talking skull can leave without a major magical incident. Okay?"

"My god," Harry exclaimed. "Stacy was right. Watson, how do you live with it?"

John shrugged. "Comes in the package."

Harry stared at him like he had just met a truly divine being. "You're a saint to put up with him. A real one."

"Funny. That's what Scotland Yard says too."

* * *

><p>"Well <em>hello<em>, sexy consulting detective," the definitely not customs-approved talking skull cooed to Sherlock. After the initial shock, Sherlock had become mostly inured, although the sheer innuendo the skull employed was staggering. It didn't even have a body for carnal relations. "Can you invite the hot piece of wizard ass you keep around and put on a show for this spirit? Not that I'm more of a ladies' spirit myself, but any action around here is kinda non-existent, if you get what I mean."

"I have a name, thank you. And I would rather keep any action to myself than tell you," Sherlock added as an afterthought, if only to ensure that _John was his, and nothing was going to change that. _"Besides, commentary during sex is..." he shivered, "Disgusting."

"My god," the talking skull exclaimed. "You're like the boss. Stubborn-headed and generally ignorant of shagging opportunities and stupidly devoted to one person. Although in the boss's case, it's only recent."

"Really now?" Now Sherlock was all ears.

"Yeah. The poor sap on the other end's been carrying a torch for...what? Seven years now? And they haven't even got any action on yet. Boss is such a prude, I'm surprised that they even got to third base..."

It took a few more conversations, but finally Sherlock made a transatlantic phone call to a certain number in Chicago's office district with a suitably romantic message.

The next time he saw Harry, the wizard private investigator was grinning from ear to ear.

At the end of their exchange, Harry accidentally-on-purpose sets every single bug Mycroft had planted into a heap of plastic and metal. He and Sherlock shakes hands in mutual agreement, and Harry steps into the Nevernever just as Sherlock sets about devising just how to spike John's drink with the love potion Harry and the talking skull left for him.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Please review!<em>**


End file.
